


There's People Coming

by LMT



Series: Hound & Arya fic [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 02:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMT/pseuds/LMT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the wildest child warriors have to grow up.</p><p>((Read Over the River first or you'll be like ??????.   Warning though: this one will contain sex.  Fuller warnings inside.))</p><p>Now complete!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**So, here's the warning: While this story isn't going to be random unadulterated pr0n, it will definitely contain sex.  (For example:  M/F and F/F in the very first chapter!).  I'm not specifying Arya's age in the text – I'm sure it's whatever it needs to be to comport with everybody's comfort level and local laws regarding age of consent. *settles halo on head***

**You'll probably be confused if you didn't read Over the River first. If you're too lazy, the basic synopsis is: the Hound has successfully gotten Arya to the Eyrie and helped her kill a lot of people, a process during which they bonded a great deal.**

* * *

The wolf girl stomped into his bedroom one morning and shook him awake. “Up. Up. You owe me.”

“What?” He’d drunk too much last night – much too much. There was a foul taste in his mouth. “Owe you? The fuck do I owe you?”

“You promised,” she said – lowering her voice when she realized his state. He managed to grunt a thank-you before stuffing his head under a pillow.

Arya followed him in there. “You promised me,” she whispered into his ear, “That when I flowered you’d take me to a whorehouse and get me one to celebrate. Remember? It was ages ago but I-”

“I remember.” Not really, but it sounded like something he’d say. “I’m in no shape to go whoring now, girl. Come talk to me in a couple of hours.”

She sighed and crawled out of bed.

* * *

She caught him later on in the training yards. “You look like shit,” she told him.

He’d thrown up twice already and his stomach was warning him that it wasn’t done. “You ever tried fighting the morning after you drink?” He swung the sword again. Actually hit, more or less, what he was aiming for. “It’s not easy. Takes fucking practice.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Be glad I'm good at it. I’ve fought sick for you before.” He walked over to the rail and leaned out – it would be impolite to actually foul up the practice floor – and puked again. Not much came up this time. Still, there was something undignified about hanging over the edge and heaving helplessly, and he stopped as soon as he could. “What do you want, girl?”

“I want to go whoring. Not til you’re done being sick, obviously. But you said we could, once I bled.”

“Mm.” He was still drooling. Might retch again in a moment.

“And now I’m bleeding.” She looked over her shoulder, to see that nobody was nearby. Stuck her hand down her pants and then held it out. “See?”

The sunlight was too bright for his eyes to focus right away. When he realized what she’d done he flinched away from her and made a face.

“What?” She wiped it off on her clothes. “It’s just blood.”

“Aye but-…” He hung back over the railing just in case. “Ugh. And you can’t go fuck now anyway,” he said. “You have to wait til it stops.”

“Why?”

“What _why_. You don’t kiss with a mouth full of food, do you?”

“Oh.” Then she was beside him, offering him water. “When does it stop?”

“I don’t know.” He rinsed his mouth and spat over the railing. “It’s moon blood. Comes at the full moon, or something. Goes away… later.”

She laughed at him. “You have no idea at all, do you.”

He shook his head. “Not a fucking shred.” Took a careful sip of water and stood up. “Now go away, I’m busy.”

“Gladly. Can we go once I stop bleeding?”

Anything to get rid of her. “Fine.”

* * *

She managed not to cling to his arm, but she couldn’t stop herself from pressing against him and keeping one hand on her sword. She’d never been to a brothel before – and this one was very intimidating. It was a nice brothel, big and fancy, a week’s ride away from home. (“If your uncle finds out,” the Hound had warned… and then stopped, because they couldn’t even imagine what Littlefinger would do.)

The Hound was negotiating with a pretty lady in silk. “Nothing special for me,” he said. “I like them to move and follow orders and not stare at me. Older’s fine, and I don’t care about the face.” The pretty lady nodded, and spoke privately to an even prettier assistant, who nodded and swept out. “The important thing is this girl,” the Hound said, nudging Arya forward. “She’s virgin and needs to stay that way. Just looking for some pretty little thing to lick her cunt and make her happy. Boy, girl, she doesn’t care. Can you help us with that?”

 _To lick her-…?_ Arya tried not to look surprised. Tried not to look like she had no idea what she was doing.

“Of course,” the woman said, smiling at her. “Together, or separate rooms?”

“Together,” Arya said at once. Not that she was scared, or out of her element, or anything. The Hound was looking at her with raised eyebrows, so she gave him a shrug. “What? It’s cheaper, isn’t it?”

* * *

It was a mystery to him why he was suddenly shy about fucking in front of the wolf girl; he’d done it a dozen times since he’d known her. Still. Now that she was a woman (technically. He’d seen _horses_ more womanly than this) it felt odd, but what did it matter, so he just shrugged it off and went where he was led.

It was a big room with oversized mattresses covering near half the floor and transparent gauze curtains hanging down at intervals. He took off his sword belt and his boots, and then a woman came in for him and pushed him down into the cushions. “Does milord want me to undress him?”

“No,” the wolf girl answered for him, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. Watching. “Milord doesn’t undress to fuck.”

He sighed up at her. “You’ve got your own girl to mind for a change,” he said. “Leave me alone.”

His woman laughed and straddled him, blocking Arya from his view. Good. “If not undress you, what do you want me to do first?”

“I want you to keep quiet and get fucked,” he said. He lifted her by the hips and dumped her off onto the cushions next to him. “Use your mouth to start.”

He unbuttoned himself and let her get busy. While she was doing that he looked over her head and saw that Arya was still watching him. “What?” he said to her.

“Nothing. Should _I_ undress?”

Someone rapped on the doorway. “Definitely,” Arya’s whore said. “The more skin you give me, the more fun we can have.” She came in – a young freshfaced thing, freckled, local from the look of her – and made a playful curtsy. “I’m Melly.”

“Arya,” Arya said.

“Do you want help with that armor, Arya?”

Arya’s hands went to her belt, but then she hesitated and looked towards him once more. That was right; it was good of her to always be cautious about taking off her leathers. “Go on, girl,” he told her. _Feels safe in here, and I’m watching._ He didn’t say it aloud but she seemed to hear it; she nodded and let the freckled girl put hands on her.

Sandor’s own woman had him nice and hard by now. She looked up at him (pretty herself, except for some badly chipped teeth and a scar that her makeup did a shit job of concealing) and asked with her eyebrows.

“Aye, let’s go. Lie down and don’t pretend for me.”

She was perfect. Soft and warm and took her cues – silently. She didn’t lie to him with fake moaning… she didn’t lie to him at all, really. He tested her: pinched her nipple hard and nasty breathing _You like that?_ , and she slapped his hand and repositioned it. She held him and moved with him and squeezed him inside. He didn’t get the sense of being _unwelcome_ with her, the way he did with some whores, so he took his time. He rode her hard towards the end, and that didn’t seem to bother her either. When he was done she slithered out from under him and brought him a drink. He drank and lay next to her, catching his breath. Touching her a little; he liked the feel of her skin.

After a while she gave a soft laugh. “Your friend,” she whispered, pointing. She pulled aside one of the hanging curtains so they could see better.

Arya was thrashing around naked, bent backwards over a big cushion with her hips in the air, holding a pillow over her own face while the freckled girl worked her furiously with mouth and hands.

Sandor chuckled. “Can she even breathe like that?”

“Do you think she cares?” The whore tickled over his ear. “Ah, to be young again.”

Soon a muffled noise, which sounded like a scream, and Arya bucked so hard that the freckled girl went flying.

Off came the pillow. “Oh I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Arya panted. She wiped her face. “I was just- that’s- come back here, don’t stop, do it again.”

The girl crawled back up and leaned over her. “Arya, you are the strongest girl I’ve ever had,” she laughed. “And the biggest _mover._ I’m not really sure… how else to position you…” Folding the cushion even tighter, bending Arya almost in half… “So that you can’t get away from me.” Arya giggled helplessly, and threaded her hands in the girl’s hair when she got back to work. “In a minute I’m going to have to tie you up.” More laughter. More licking. “Or get your friend to come over here and hold you down.”

Arya’s head whipped sideways faster even than in battle, and she met his stare wide-eyed. Almost terrified. Like she’d been _caught._

And then he realized that _he_ was giving _her_ the same fucking look. (Because _he_ shouldn’t be staring; it wasn’t polite to spy on other people fucking. What was _her_ excuse?)

A moment later, though, he stopped worrying about himself behaving strangely because Arya went him one better. (One worse?).  With her eyes still locked on his, she _came._ He’d never seen a girl come before who wasn’t pretending, but there was no mistaking it.

“ _Ohhh,_ and there it is,” Sandor’s whore whispered, laughing. “Melly’s _really_ good, you know.” Her voice was casual, innocent even. “She and I work well together. In case you ever want to try sharing.”

When Arya was done she looked from him to the freckled girl and back again, grinning, and finally just flopped down and put the pillow back on her head.

The freckled girl looked over in their direction. “She’s feisty, this one,” she said, hands still on Arya’s thighs. “Probably go right again, I bet.” And she dove right back in.

* * *

Arya was so worn-out by the end that she lay boneless and sleepy for an hour, but as they left she was bouncing off the walls with excitement. “That was so much fun. It was! How do they learn to _do_ that? Why doesn’t _everybody_ do that? When can we come back?”

He tried to be gruff with her. “You’re the one always complaining about the cost of whoring. Do you have any idea what this place runs? I could have fucked for a year on this.”

She rolled her eyes. “This was better than a year of those awful girls you usually get.”

He didn’t disagree with her, necessarily. His woman had had him twice – and she’d been excellent. The second time she’d gotten on top and done it all herself, reproducing his rhythm perfectly and slithering her hands in to find skin underneath his leathers. The freckled girl, for her part, had put on a quite a show with Arya (which he wasn't prepared to admit to enjoying) and then gone on to put on a show with her twice-fucked colleague as well.

(Arya had been fascinated with that. “Is that what she was doing to _me_?” she’d asked, sprawled out exhausted against him. And he'd answered – before it occurred to him that he ought to lie and say he hadn't noticed. “Some. The mouth. Didn’t have that hand so deep in you though.”)

“We are definitely coming back,” Arya said with authority, and swung up onto her horse.

And then _gasped_ , eyes bugging out, practically convulsing on her saddle.

He had to laugh at her. “Should be an interesting ride home.”

* * *

 

TBC.

Let me know what you think! 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**No sex this chapter! And no murders! Wow.**

* * *

Arya plunked down next to him at dinner and filled his glass. “ _My uncle_ ,” she said, “Has found a new way of wasting his time.”

_Besides sniffing around your sister?_ “Mm?” He drank.

She filled the glass again. “He's thinking up a list of husbands for me.”

Sandor inhaled a lungful of wine. Coughed and laughed and finally got out: “You mean a list of men he wants dead?”

“It's not funny. He seems to be serious. Fuck _that_ : I'm not doing it.”

He tried not to look too pitying. But what was there to say? “I’m not killing Littlefinger, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“ _It’s not funny._ Why should I have to be married?”

“Because you're a woman now, and that's what women do. I know, I know,” he said, resigned, before she could hit him. “Don't call you woman.”

“It's stupid.  I don't want to - and I'd be a horrible wife.” She poured for him again. “Were _you_ ever married?”

“Why the fuck would I want to get married?” _And who the fuck would have me anyway?_

“I don't know. Get somebody's lands?”

“Already have plenty of lands to not give a shit about.”

“Have some children?”

“I'd sooner _cut it off_ than-.” He cleared his throat and tried again – something a little more civilized. “Whatever's wrong with my family dies with me,” he said. “Our seed is cursed. I’d never risk siring another Gregor. Or- anything.”

She was quiet a moment. He drank faster. Another few glasses and he'd forget ever saying that.

“There are other reasons to get married, you know,” she said.

“What – true love?” he snorted. “Have you been hanging around your sister?”

Arya laughed. “No. Other reasons.” She took a deep breath. “Like... maybe to save somebody you're friends with… from having to wed a stranger.”

He blinked. _Somebody._ “Seven hells,” he said at last.

“What?” She shoved at him. “Don't make fun. I like you. And I wouldn't be the first lady to wed her shield.”

“You, a lady?” he laughed.

She gave him a long level look. “If that's how you act when people say they like you, it's no wonder nobody does.”

He'd actually insulted her. “Wolf girl,” he protested, reaching out. The words were slurring now; _now_ the wine was starting to hit.  He'd been going since before dinner.

“Never _mind_ -”

“Don't be-”

“Let go!” She threw her drink in his face. Snatched his from his hand, and dumped that one over his head.

And then, as if the message _still_ wasn't clear enough, she grabbed up the whole carafe, took a gulp, and spat it all over him.

He sighed. Wiped his eyes. He'd seen a lot of insulted women in taverns and such before, and even though he’d never actually provoked one himself, he knew enough to find fault with her technique. “Customary to slap, too, isn’t it?”

She did – left-handed, the backwards bitch. “Psh. You know I don't feel anything on that side.” _Shut up, you drunk idiot._

She made a noise of outrage and slapped him righty, and he laughed at her. “That's it, girl,” he said. “That's the slap of a proper scorned woman. Are you bleeding now? They say that women get angrier when they’re-”

“ _You’ll_ be bleeding in a minute.” She sounded like she meant it. But before he could try and make nice to her, she got up and stomped out of the hall.

He sighed. Went after her – taking his drink with him. (Someone grabbed at his arm as he pushed past and protested _Go easy, she's just a-_ and he shook them off snarling. If only he _was_ chasing after her to beat her.)

He caught up with her in a stairwell. “All right, wolf girl.” He wasn't yet so drunk that he couldn't catch her wrists one-handed. Wine dripped down into his collar. He should strangle her. “Listen.” He sat on the floor, yanking her with him, because he had no plans of falling drunk down a staircase. “I'd make even more of a shit husband than you would a shit wife.”

“I don't-”

“Shut it.” He tried to look forbidding. “It's not that I mind you – wild little bitch that you are. But your home's in ruins.” He hiccupped. Swallowed down a burp. “Mine's a hell I'm never going back to. Between your name and my face we'd never be left in peace no matter where we went anyway.” She'd stopped fighting, so he let go. “I've gone ahead with some bad plans for you,” he finished, “But wedding is the worst one yet. Too much even for me. Answer’s no.”

She was quiet a minute. Then her hand came up, and he braced to be hit again... but instead, she bunched up her sleeve and started drying him off with it. “You could've said that first,” she sulked, dabbing not very gently. “Instead of laughing at me.”

He laughed again. ( _Idiot._ ) “I beg your bloody pardon. All right? You just surprised me, girl. No one's ever... asked my hand before.” Managed it with a mostly straight face.

She muttered something that sounded a lot like _no wonder,_ but then she got to his scars and hesitated. “Do you really not feel anything over here?”

_Drunk idiot._ “I feel it when somebody fucking hits me,” he growled. Wishing she would stop staring; he wore his hair shagging down over that side for a _reason._ He told himself she couldn't see much in the flickering torchlight anyway.  “Nothing soft, is all.”

“You feel this?” she said as she wiped.

“Yes. Enough, let it be.” He swatted her hands away, but she ignored it.

“What about this? Close your eyes.”

He sighed “What the fuck are you doing?”... but cooperated. Really, he should strangle her instead.

“Nothing. Just curious. Do you?”

“Yes: pressure.”

“This?”

No pressure now. Just... vibration. It was the drag of something small and hard, probably a fingernail, over the ridges. “Aye.”

“This?”

He felt nothing at all. “No.”

She giggled. “Really? How about this?”

“No.”

“And... this?”

Even with his eyes closed he could see the light change; she'd moved closer. He felt something brush his jaw: hair. Not his.

He opened his eyes and leaned back. “Did you just bloody kiss me?”

She shrugged. 

“What a fucking _girl._ ” He caught her wrist as she went for his glass. “Ah-ah,” he warned. “Waste any more, and _I'll_ slap _you_. And that, I promise you'll feel.”

* * *

TBC.

I can't believe I've reverted to posting daily again.  I'm trying to *stop* writing this pairing!  Clearly I have no willpower.  Arrgh.

Let me know what you think!

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: Slight sexual content – dialog only. And passing ref to past non-con.**

* * *

“ _Psst._ Wake up.”

“Nnn. Go away, wolf girl.”

“Move. Roll over.”

“… _AH!_ The fuck was that?”

“The fuck did it _feel_ like?”

“Felt like someone making a fucking grab for my cock.”

“Then maybe that's what it was.  Stop fighting, you like this.”

“I like-? What are you – _get off me_!”

“Fucking. You like fucking. I want to fuck.”

“Are you-… _Arya!_ ”

“ _Ow!_ Watch it – not the face!”

“Let go or I’ll break your bloody fingers.”

“ _You_ let go. If you break my fingers right now which of us do you think is going to get more hurt?”

“ _Ah!_ ”

“See?”

“All right, all _right_! Fucking let go.”

“Hear me out first and then we’ll see. Listen: I need your help. This is _your_ fault anyway; if you’d married me like I said, then my uncle wouldn’t be trying to give me away and this wouldn’t be happening. So: I need you to take my maidenhead. Now.”

“ _What_?”

“He sent a letter promising me and saying what a nice juicy virgin I am. Now they’re going to have a septa examine me to make sure. If it turns out I’m not maiden after all, nobody’ll want me and my uncle will look like a liar and it’ll serve him right.”

“That’s-, would you please-? That’s fucking ridiculous. The septa will say you’re maiden enough. She’s probably a thousand-year-old blind halfwit anyway.”

“We have a week. That’s plenty of time. You can fuck me _loose_ by then, we’ll do it every day morning and night until there’s no way _anybody_ could mistake me for maiden at all. … Ha! Felt that. I _knew_ you’d think it’s a good idea.”

“I-, it’s, it’s not.”

“Really? Because…”

“Yes yes I know, _believe me_ I feel it. Now let go. Don’t-… _mn._ ”

“Don’t… this? Is this how you do it?”

“ _Oh-…_ come on. Not funny. Don’t torture me, girl. If you get my blood up I'll just go to bed miserable. I’m not having you.”

“ _You_ come on. Why not?”

“Because-… _mn._ \- … Because for starters it wouldn’t even work. He’ll marry you off regardless.”

“No he won’t. You’ll fuck me right beforehand, and I’ll go to the septa still  _leaking_ your seed.  She’ll see it all dripping out of me, and she’ll let everyone know that you’ve been there first, and-”

“ _Seven fucking hells, girl!_ Stop!”

“Oh, shut up – you don’t want me to stop.”

“I do. I… _do._ I’ll knock you out if I have to.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because - _mn-_ Because in the middle of the night with a hand on my cock, I can’t think. And someone needs to. You can’t take it back. Once you give it up.”

“Yes I know. Exactly.”

“No. You don’t do that without thinking. I mean it, girl: _no_.”

“… Oh, _fine._ Fine! Then I guess I’ll just… _leave._ ”

“ _Ah-_ … But- fuck... ah fuck. Not funny – it's not funny!”

“Yes it is. Are you going to finish up yourself? Are you going to think of me?”

“Think of _strangling_ you, maybe. Get the fuck out of here, you stone-cold bitch.  Go.  Go! It’s not fucking funny!”

“Sweet dreams!”

“Fuck you, girl. _Fuck._ ”

* * *

“Morning,” she said brightly.

All he said was: “No.”

She’d expected that. She was all ready for him. “Why?” She had an answer to every single thing he could think of.

“Because I don't want you. You’re too fucking plain and skinny, and you have no tits. You look like a boy. An _ugly_ boy.”

“Didn't seem to bother you last night,” she said swiftly; she _knew_ he’d try that first. “You don’t care what your women look like anyway.”

“Well I care that my women are nice and broken in. I hate maidens; they scream and cry and bleed.”

If he was going to be mean, she could be mean right back. “How would _you_ know?” she scathed. “All you ever get are _cheap whores_. How many nice girls ever give you the time of day – much less offer up their maidenheads?”

He was quiet for a second. Then: “I’ve had two maidens,” he said, flat. “Years ago. Raped them.”

That brought her up short. Since he’d never shown interest in having _her_ against her will it hadn’t occurred to her that he might have had others.

“It was Gregor’s idea,” he went on, marginally less icy. “Lot of screaming. I didn’t much enjoy it. He seemed to.”

“Sorry,” she said after a bit. “I didn’t know that.” She waited until he shrugged it off and looked away. “It wouldn’t be like that with me, though,” she said. “First off I’m willing, and second I won’t scream and cry no matter what. You know I won’t.”

He sighed. “Girl…”

“Please?” She tried big, sad eyes. “If you won’t do it I’ll have to get someone else – and I don’t _want_ someone else. Some stranger stable boy is hardly better than some stranger husband.”

At that he grabbed her. “You are not going to throw yourself at the bloody stable boys,” he growled.

Jealousy: next tactic. “You can’t stop me.” She pulled free. “I’ll just go down to where they all play cards, and lie back with my skirt up and see who’s interested. How many takers do you think there’ll be? Anybody who wants can have a go, but if they’re as bad at fucking as they are at kissing I’ll probably have to fuck my way through half the Vale before-”

He shut her up with a backhand – a pretty hard one. “I’ve kept men off you for years, girl.” His voice was rough and strange. “I didn’t do it so you could throw it away like _that._ ”

“ _Good_ ,” she said. She stared him down, and before long his throat jumped and she knew she had him. “I’m not some _thing_ to be handed over to a stranger like property,” she seethed. “Not to wed and not to bed. _I_ say who I live with, and _I_ say who I fuck.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I'm coming to your room after everyone’s asleep tonight,” she said. “Don’t be drunk, and don’t be nasty.”

* * *

TBC.

Thanks so much for the comments - you guys are great!

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Warning for explicit sexual content this time.**

* * *

She was almost surprised that he opened the door for her. He looked… wary. (And mostly sober!). “What the fuck is that?” he growled.

“What – this?” She spun around, showing off her dress. “If I’m playing girl tonight, I might as well do it right.”

He let her in, and locked the door behind her, but still looked ill at ease. “It’s not as bad a plan as trying to wed me – I’ll give you that,” he said at last. “But it’s still a bad fucking plan.”

“It is _not_. I hate most people touching me – but not you. I hate most people kissing me – but not you. I’m going to have to give up my maidenhead _someday_ , and I don't know anyone else I'd rather have take it.” He was making a face, so she worried that that sounded too romantic. Backtracked immediately. “Well, except for Prince Oberyn,” she added. “That's whose bedroom I'd be storming if we were still in Dorne. He was gorgeous. And I loved the way he talked, too, with that- hey!”

He’d cuffed her, chuckling. Then he grew serious. “Have you really thought it through? You can’t undo it.”

“You can't undo anything.”

He looked at her for a while. Sizing her up. “All right, then. But it won’t be nice like playing around at that whorehouse. A girl’s first fuck is always bad – and it’ll be especially bad with _me_ ; I’m not gentle.”

She waved that off. “It can’t hurt more than getting cut and stabbed and bitten. I’ll be fine.” She chewed at her lip. “I… don’t know what to do, though. You have to tell me.”

“You get in the bed, that's what.” When she did he stood towering over her, looking down, hands on his hips. “You want to just get it over with quick?”

His voice was the same as always, but somehow, tonight she was noticing how _low_ and _rough_ it was. Her stomach was full of butterflies – but they were mostly excitement, not fear. She knew the difference.

She sat up and tugged him down to her. “No. Let’s do a good job.” Tugged him down further, and kissed him.

She’d kissed the Hound many times before, but usually it was because she was practicing ways to kill someone. The thought made her laugh and she knew he was thinking the same thing, because he immediately pulled away and glared at her. “No fucking stiletto.”

She heaved a sigh as if put upon. “Oh, _fine._ ” Kissed him again.

“And no garrote.” He sounded serious.

 _She_ was giggling, but she was getting pretty good at kissing through giggles so it didn't matter. “ _Fine._ ”

“And don't break a bottle over my head.”

“ _What?_ Am I not allowed to have any fun at _all_?” Before long he was relaxing, shifting to kneel on the bed, then to lie part on top of her. He was kissing her almost lazily, slow and with lots of tongue. Eventually she decided to push on. When she went to touch him, though, his clothes were in the way. “Take this off,” she said at last, tugging at his shirt. He didn’t usually, but maybe he’d make an exception.

“Not going to stab me, are you? Not going to complain about my scars?” But he did it.

“If I want to stab you I'll find a way no matter what you're wearing. And I don't mind your scars.” (She didn't mind _some_ of them, anyway – the ones he'd gotten fighting for _her._ But any wounds he'd taken for Joffrey she hated, and was glad whenever they flared up to bother him.)

Then he raised his hips off her. “Hike your skirts up.”

She froze – afraid, for a second. She wanted to say _wait,_ except she couldn't because then he'd think she was having second thoughts and he'd stop for good. (And mock her for losing her nerve.). She told herself she _wasn't_ afraid. She _was_ going ahead. She made herself start breathing again, and reached down and worked the dress up over her hips. “That?”

“Mm.” He put a leg in between hers and pressed, circling.

She gasped and pressed back – it felt good. And she was suddenly lightheaded with relief. The combination was intense, and she hung on to him tighter.

“Supposed to be… a little less bad… if we warm you up first,” he explained in between kisses.

She nodded and nipped his lip. “Keep doing that. I like it.”

“Mm.”

Once she got her head together again, she turned and kissed at his jaw. Then his neck. She liked the way it turned his breathing ragged. When she went behind his ear he even made a _noise._

After a while he arched up – without separating their hips – and reached for the laces on her dress.

…And soon gave up and swore at them. He leaned over to grab a dagger off the nightstand instead. “Hold still,” he said. He slid the blade down inside her clothes, and she gasped hard as it tickled over her breastbone. He sawed through the laces with one hard slash.

While he opened the dress up with one hand, his other was still holding the dagger, and it was resting against her cheek. “I like that,” she said.

He looked up. “Me undressing you?”

She shook her head. “No, the… the steel. It’s cold.” She shivered under it.

He frowned at her as if he didn’t understand. Looked at the dagger. Then dragged the point down her jaw, and pressed the flat of the blade against her neck.

Now she _really_ shivered, and squirmed, and couldn’t catch her breath. (Carefully though, because the last thing she needed was to get her throat cut by accident.). He returned his eyes to her face and moved the dagger over her, pressing it flat against her chest, even scraping the edge over her skin.

She nodded hard.

But before long he threw it back on the table. “Fucking wolf girl,” he laughed. “Only you.”

Instead of kissing his neck, then, she took to biting it. (But not hard enough to break skin.)

“Are you ready?” he said into her ear.

 _How should I know?_ “Yes.” She wasn't afraid anymore, at least.

“All right. Take your underthings off unless you want me to tear them.”

She liked the idea of tearing them; the Hound was always most impressive when he was at his most bestial. But. He seemed to be joking, and he’d already made fun of her for liking the dagger, so she just took them off the normal way.

She put her legs up around his waist; he’d always yelled at the whores who just lay flat underneath. He nodded like that was right. Then he reached down between them, and she knew he was getting his cock out.

“Going to hurt,” he said again.

“I know. I won't scream.” She had one hand on his neck, and the other reaching under his arm to hang on to his back. “Do it.”

* * *

He pushed in with steady pitiless pressure, like driving a dull blade through mail and leather. It was horribly painful; the girl was vice-tight and mostly dry inside. Whores knew to oil themselves up first. She apparently didn’t, and he’d forgotten to tell her.

Wasn’t going to say anything though; clearly she was having an even worse time of it than he was and if he complained she’d probably bite his throat out.

“You all right?” he said instead.

Her nails were dug in his neck and back hard enough to bleed him and her knees were clamped tight around his waist. She was wheezing for breath. But she nodded against him. “Is it… supposed to feel like… someone stabbing me?”

He pulled out – probably losing half his skin to the friction – and forced in again. “No idea. Never done it from your end.”

She laughed breathlessly and made what seemed to be an effort to stop clawing him. “I’m all right.”

“Good girl.” The pressure was still uncomfortable, but after a few more strokes he was able to slide a little better at least. “You’re a bleeder.”

“Good. I’ll hang the sheets up.” She rubbed a hand over his back and resettled her legs. Stopped trying to squeeze him to death with them.

Now that she wasn't resisting he could pound into her freely, but it wasn't quite enough. “Can you move?” he said. He felt a little greedy asking... but the whole thing was _her_ idea, and if she wanted him to cooperate the least she could do was make it good for him.

“Like…this?” She figured it out pretty well, actually. Close.

“Hips roll. Not shove. Aye.” He paced slow so that she could keep up with it. One of her hands went to his waist, and she pulled herself against him with each stroke. “Mm-hm. That’s right.”

Then she sucked at his neck. At that _he_ almost lost the rhythm, gasping and swearing – the sucking was pleasurable and maddening and completely fucking unfamiliar. She laughed and did it again. “You like that?”

“Aye.” He would have given her something friendly in return – but what? He pulled back and curved himself to kiss her at least, he knew she liked that, but she was so fucking short it wasn’t really comfortable. “Still all right?”

She nodded. “Burns like anything, but I’m fine.”

Whatever pain there was she was handling – it wasn't slowing her down any and it didn't show on her face. The wolf girl really was _fine_. He was glad of that, and bizarrely proud of her. He bent to kiss her on the forehead. “Good.”

It was time to concentrate on coming; he was starting to be ready and there was no need to subject her to more than he had to. He sped up and it didn’t take long – the squeeze was good now, not quite too much anymore, and he remembered her saying _you can fuck me loose_ and he would. He fucking would, with her clinging to him and kissing at him – and bruising him with her mouth – tight and pristine and _you’ve been there first_ and-

Fuck. He was there, all right. His last few strokes were hard enough to bang the bed against the wall, and draw whimpers from her despite all her grit. He reared back to actually look at her while he was coming… and she was looking at _him_ , flushed and unblinking, with a hand up on his cheek. “I feel that,” she said, and all he could do was swear helplessly.

* * *

He collapsed on top of her afterwards. She’d seen him do it to girls before and always wondered how he managed to avoid crushing them… and now she learned. He’d pulled his knees up underneath him and put his elbows down, so that there was almost no weight on her at all.

It wasn’t entirely comfortable, given that she was all folded in half and her cunt was fucking _on fire,_ but she’d overlook that for a while in favor of just… holding him. It was strangely cozy. Her arms were around him and his face was buried in her neck. Without him crushing her with his bulk or towering over her with his height, for a change she didn’t feel tiny and helpless next to him. In fact, she felt pretty powerful; it looked like she’d worn him completely out.

She could feel his chest heave and his heart pound. And he’d broken a little bit of a sweat. She hadn’t. He seemed satisfied, but maybe she should have been doing more of the work?

She felt like she should be _doing_ something – something womanly – so she reached into his hair to rub his neck. “Was it all right?” she said at last.

“So you’re a bleeder _and_ a talker,” he said thickly. “I should have known.”

So much for cozy. She pulled his hair. “Get off me – you’re enormous and I can’t breathe.”

He laughed and heaved himself off. She immediately regretted it, because unfolding herself meant horrible pain with every shift of her weight.

She must have made some noise or some face or something, because he froze a second and looked down at her. “Oh, you _did_ bleed. I'll wipe you down.”

She propped up on her elbows, fascinated. First by the blood, because it made her sort of impressed with herself, and second because she’d never seen the Hound bustle around taking care of his whores after he’d had them. (Though, that was probably because they knew enough not to bleed all over the sheets.)

He scrubbed a wet cloth over her thighs and then pressed it against her where it _hurt._ She hissed; he murmured _sorry_. (That was new, too. He hurt her all the time in training and never apologized.)

After he was done cleaning her up – and himself; he was all sticky too – he put his shirt on and flopped down in bed and promptly started snoring.

“Hey.” She shook him. “ _Was_ I all right? For a first time. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

His eyes opened just a little. “Did I hit you?”

“No.”

“Did I come?”

“Yes.”

“Then you were fine. Go to sleep.” He threw some of the covers in her direction. “And congratulations: you’re not maiden anymore.”

* * *

He woke up to someone stroking his cock. He cleared his throat.

“Morning and night, I told you,” she said with determination.

He swatted her away. “You don’t want to get fucked again now, girl.”

“Yes I do.” He had his back to her and still could _hear_ her scowl. “They say it doesn’t hurt like that after the first time.”

“After _you’ve healed_ from the first time. Give it a week.”

“I don’t have a week.”

He sighed and rolled over to face her. “Spread your legs.” She did it. “Knees up.” Did that too. At least today the girl was obedient – if stupid. He sat up and nodded in the direction of her cunt. “Open it up so I can see it. Use your hands.”

When she did that she hissed – but she kept spread. Walked her feet a little wider, even. “I’m _fine,_ ”she said, at her most stubborn.

So he wet his finger in his mouth (he could teach her a lesson without being _completely_ inhumane), and then shoved it up her. She shouted and her legs jerked closed. “Sure about that?” he said.

“ _Yes_ I’m sure,” she gasped. “I _am_.” He thrust and twisted a couple of times to see if she'd cry off, but all she did was squirm around miserably with a look of challenge he knew all too well. She relaxed with a sigh when he pulled out. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll get used to it in a second.”

If not, she had no one but herself to blame. “Fine,” he decided. “Hike the damn dress up.” The bed smelled of sex and he'd awoken with an appetite, so if she was offering...

She sat up to throw her arms and legs around him, grinning. Dragged him down on top of her, and wriggled under him to get comfortable. “Rub on me first again though – I liked that.” Her fingers went to his collar, fussing and tugging. Opening it up to bare his neck. _Ah, fuck._ He shivered.

She giggled as her fingers skittered in. Tongue was next. He’d slapped the shit out of the last whore who’d pretended enthusiasm... but Arya didn't seem to be pretending.  When she moved to pressed her whole body up against him, he let her. 

* * *

**TBC.**

**I'm really trying to avoid this becoming a giant epic! So, there will be just one or two more chapters, to deal with the fallout, and that will conclude this little episode.**

**Let me know what you think!**

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**No sex this chapter.**

* * *

Arya was lying in her bed, under the covers, aching between the legs and trying to decide whether getting fucked again would make it better or worse.  Fucking too much had made her sore, but she also felt swollen and uncomfortable, like an itch that needed scratching.  She poked at herself, wishing she could remember exactly what Melly at the whorehouse had done.  Maybe she should go riding – riding had been a torment after Melly, but also good in a way.  Maybe that was the answer?

Except it was night now, so she couldn’t go riding.  There _had_ to be something else.

“Sansa?”  This wasn't going to go well.  She knew it.

“Hm?”  Sansa was reading.

“I have a question.  It’s about, um.”  She had no idea about the polite phrasing for anything she wanted to talk about.  “Being a woman.”

“Flowering?”  Sansa looked up – bleak.  “You bleed.  It's not magical and it's not nice.  The Queen told me our lady mother should have prepared us better for it.  We didn't know anything.”

Arya stared at the ceiling.  “No, it's not about the bleeding.  It's just... did you ever start feeling... um...”  _Fuck it,_ she decided at last.“It’s about fucking.”  How else was she going to explain it?  She looked over and saw that Sansa was staring at her in horror.  “I mean I just-, I’m feeling-, it, I don't know what to do.  It happens ev-”  She caught herself; _every time someone touches my cunt_ would probably not be a good thing to say.  “Just: if you’re feeling… strange.  Down there.  What do you do?”

Sansa was biting her lip.  “Arya... I know you're worried about the-... the wedding, but it's, you shouldn't, it's-... when it's time you'll just....”  She shook her head.  “Your lord husband will tell you what you need to know.”

Arya heaved a sigh.  “Tyrion apparently didn't tell _you_ anything, did he.”  She suddenly wanted to _tell_ her, all about Melly and last night (and again this morning, and again just a little while ago) and the fact that her smallclothes were still stiff with the stickiness the Hound had left behind.

_She would probably faint._

“Never mind,” she said instead.  She'd get to sleep _somehow._   And if she still felt this restless in the morning, she'd go and get fucked again and that would probably take care of it.

Sansa looked at her a while longer – looking troubled – and then blew the light out to sleep.

A while later, there was a knock at their door.  A soft, heavy pounding, and Arya guessed right away who it was.

She tiptoed to the door and let him in.  “Hush,” she said.  “Sansa’s asleep.”

He nodded.  “Good.  Here.”  He had a mug in his hand and he was pushing it at her insistently.  “Drink.”

Since she was always up for a drink, and too busy wondering whether he could do anything about fixing what was bothering her, she took a big sip without thinking.

And choked on it.  “What in hells is this?”  It wasn't liquor.

“Moon tea.”  He looked more grim and closed-off than she’d seen him in a long time.  “You know why.”

 _I'd never risk siring another Gregor._   “That's silly,” she said, but took another sip.  “I'll drink it, but you're being silly.”

“Just drink.”  He sounded a little less cold.

“Fine.”  She sipped again.  “Then there’s something _you_ need to do for _me._ ”

“Seven hells.”  He sighed and gestured for her to ask.

“Um.  Do you remember Melly – that girl at the whorehouse?”

The Hound chuckled – quietly.  “Oh, I’ll remember her for a while.”

“Well… that thing she did.  With her mouth.  Do you know how to do it?  Don’t _laugh_ ,” she protested, when he kept laughing.  She smacked him – quietly too; it would be very bad if Sansa woke up to this.  “Come on.  It’s not funny.  A girl’s got needs.”

He stepped closer and tilted her chin up with his hand.  Watched her a good long minute and then smirked.  “I remember that look.  You rode the whole way home wearing that look.”

She slapped his hand away and shoved him.  How dare he _tease_ if he wasn’t going to actually _do_ anything to help.  He was useless _._

He sighed.  “All right, wolf girl: no, I don’t know how,” he said, still sounding too amused for her taste but at least he was answering her.  “And I’m not going to try and learn _now_ , after I’ve just been fucking you.  Think about it.”

She thought about it, and all right: maybe it was a little disgusting.  Still.  “So what do I do?  This is _your_ fault.”

She could swear he looked pleased with himself.  “Try dunking yourself in cold water,” he suggested at last.  “Gets rid of a cockstand.”

She shivered.  “I don’t have any cold water here – and that sounds awful.”

“Then just go to sleep.  In the morning we’ll go down to the yards and fight, and you’ll forget all about it.  All right?”

“Fine,” she said, because it wasn’t as if he’d given her any choice.  “But you have to learn Melly’s trick _someday_.  Or take me back there.  It was really good, and I want it.” 

He gave her eyebrows and bobbed his head, as if to say _maybe._  That was close enough, so she pointed to her cheek imperiously and stood waiting until he bent and kissed it.  He cooperated with _that_ , but he didn’t say goodnight.  All he said was: “Drink your tea.”

* * *

Sansa lay staring at the wall.  She couldn’t turn to _see_ who it was with Arya at the door, but then, she really didn’t need to.  Whoever it was filled almost the whole doorway, so that barely any light came in from the corridor.  Whoever it was chuckled low in his throat and let Arya slap him and argued with her in heated whispers.

Whoever it was kissed Arya before he left.

Sansa tried to tell herself that that didn’t mean anything.  She herself had given the Hound a kiss once.  Maybe it was the same thing – maybe he’d just done something all shy and gallant for Arya too.

She had _almost_ managed to convince herself… until she finally recognized the strange smell in the room that had been bothering her since Arya went back to bed.

Moon tea.  The Hound had brought Arya a mug of moon tea.

* * *

**Last chapter will be up tomorrow.  Let me know what you think so far!**


	6. Chapter 6

**No sex this chapter.**

* * *

Pounding at his door.  The wolf girl, no doubt.  “Enough is enough, _dog._ I've left you alone _all day_ .  Now let me in!”  He ignored it; she pounded harder.  “I’m not going to go away.  Open the door.”  He could hear her kicking.  “I’m going to keep making noise out here, all night, so that you can’t even sleep.  Let me in.  Or I’ll scream.  Like a girl.  Ready?  _AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_!”

Damn, but it was piercing.  Felt like an axe in his head.  “Shut the fuck up!” he bellowed at last. Bellowing made his head throb harder.

She stopped screeching at once.  “I knew it – I knew you were awake.  Come on,” she said more quietly.  “Please let me in.  I just want to talk.”

He would, except that getting up out of bed was going to hurt too much.

But that was pathetic, so he made himself.  Silently.

He blew most of the lights out before opening the door, but still, she took one look and made a face.  “You look like shit.”

“Just sleeping it off.  I drank too much last night.”

“And fought four people at once, I heard.”

He snorted.  “Aye.  Surprised the hell out of them – they didn’t mean for it to be a fight.”

“That's what I thought.”  She shut the door and locked it.  “It was my uncle’s doing.”

He shrugged and eased himself back down into bed.  “People had heard things.  Idiot would’ve lost face with his own household if he didn’t do _something._ ”  That was part of the truth at least, and there was no need to make her feel worse.  “It’s all right.  Forget it.”  Once he’d got himself settled, he gestured for the wineskin she'd brought him.  “Not sure how he found out, though.  Did you tell your bloody sister?”

“Me?  Of course not.”  Didn’t seem to be lying.  “I guess it’s good he did, though.  So he could deal with everything quietly.  The way he yelled at me… if I’d actually gone and made a scene for the septa like I was planning, he’d probably have thrown me out the Moon Door.”

“Mm.”  (He tried not to think about that business with the septa.  _I’ll go to the septa still leaking your seed,_ she’d said, and it was flat-out embarrassing how much the idea stirred him.). “What’s he doing with you now?”

She shrugged.  “I don’t know.  He’s probably making other stupid plans as we speak… but at least he knows he can’t pass me off as _wife material_ anymore.”

The disdain in her voice made him grin.  “You’re as much _wife material_ as my horse.  Littlefinger is a fucking idiot.”

She nudged him.  “Move over.”  She watched him shift – he tried to do it without wincing and knew he failed.  “I can’t see anything – it’s too dark in here.  How bad are you?” she said, sitting down next to him.

He huffed and shook his head.  “I’m fine.  Better off than them, I think.  I’ll tell you, they're lucky I'm kind when I'm in my cups.  If they'd come on me sober I would've cracked skulls – I don’t appreciate being fucking ambushed.”

“You weren’t _that_ kind; they’re all pretty banged up.  Two have their faces all wrecked,” she reported with a lot of satisfaction.  “You broke another one’s arm.  And he's got his ribs wrapped too – don't know if they're broken though.”

“Good.  Coward cunts deserved what they got.”  Cowards – and idiots.  He remembered breaking the arm, relishing it because he was so fucking disgusted that anyone would hold his _sword arm_ up to shield his face with.  What kind of man needed a pretty face more than he needed his sword arm?

As if reading his mind Arya started prodding at his nose – which he had definitely not bothered to defend while fighting.  The touch hurt enough to make him toss his head and snap at her.  “The maester needs to look at you,” she said severely.

“He looked.  Said I'm fine.”

“No, he looked and said you were _alive –_ and then you woke up and crawled back here, and nobody's seen you since.”

“Well, now you bloody see me.”

“Yes, and I don’t like it.”  She held his face in both hands so that he couldn’t duck away.  “Your nose looks awful.   I'm bringing someone by to set it – and anything else you broke.  I won't let him fuck you up worse,” she anticipated, “And I won't let him lie to you.  All right?”

He pulled away from her but didn't argue.

“And... listen,” she said, more quietly, not looking at him.  “I'm really sorry about this.  It was my fault.”

“Ho, was it?” he laughed.

She ignored him.  “Littlefinger did it to punish me.  He basically said so, while he was shouting.”

He’d suspected as much.  “Fuck him.  Don’t let him know you care.”

“I _don’t_ care,” she protested right away, and he managed to keep a straight face.  “But don’t worry: if I did, I still wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.”

“Good girl.”

She was quiet a moment – a rare and delicious thing – but he sensed that she had more to say.  Sure enough, before long she started picking at the covers and mumbling down into her lap:  “Um.  If it makes it any better… it _was_ worth it.”

Easy for her to say!  She wasn't the one laid up like-

“I found out who we saved me from.”

He snorted.  “You mean, who we saved from _you._ ”

He'd meant it to tease, but she didn't even crack a smile.  “My uncle told me, in the midst of his little fit.”

He supposed it was wise to know who his enemies were.  “All right: who?”

“He was going to marry me to Lord Bolton's bastard.”  She shrugged like it didn't matter, but he saw the way her hands were twisting.  “Ramsay.  The one who skins people for fun.”

She looked sick and he didn't blame her – and _nervous_ , which made him angry.  (He supposed it was anger.  He wanted to hit _someone,_ though not her.)  “The hell he was,” he snarled.“If I'd known that I'd have taken you in the bloody dining hall.  Fucked you on a table for everybody to see.  Break _that_ marriage off quick enough.”   That was enough to make her smile at least, but he wasn't done.  “Look at me, wolf girl.  Look.”  He sat up straight.  “There is no chance in any hell that I'd abandon you to Ramsay fucking Snow.”

She nodded.  “I know.”

Still, he didn’t like that she’d been scared in the first place.  “Or anyone else who’s like the people on your bloody list.”

She looked strange a moment.  “You know...”  She stopped.

He knew, suddenly, what she was going to say.  _You're still on my list too.  The very last name._

“I know,” he said tiredly.  He could take a _hundred_ beatings for her, and kill all her enemies for her and die in her defense, and still there was nothing he could do about it – about the damned butcher's boy or Joffrey or Ned Stark’s ugly head or anything else.   Some wounds just never healed.  He'd been silly to think she'd take comfort from him, no matter what he promised her.  “Just go away, will you?  I need more sleep.”

But she shook her head.  “Listen.  There are plenty of shit people in Westeros,” she said.  “I'll be killing them for the rest of my life, but I'm never going to get to the end.”  She smiled at him.  Leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his jaw.  “Can I sleep here?  Just sleep, I promise.”

He moved over to make room for her.

* * *

**The End.**

**Ta-da!  All done.**

**…Except I have another one-shot (an actual one-shot, just one chapter) all written up, that takes place years and years down the line.  I’ll post it as a separate story, probably day after tomorrow.**

**Let me know what you think!  Did I successfully avoid a creepy vibe?**


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